#the_ice_cave

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After Ice slips out to go meet with Jeremy before they head out, there is a soft scratching noise at the door.

Zara cracks open the door, peering out into the hall "Yes?"

"Hey. Can I come in? Won't take long."

"Yes, miss." she opens the door the rest of the way, stepping back. The shared room has touches from each - the laundry hamper and flower-painted folding screen seem the most obvious influences from Zara.

She has a backpack over one shoulder now, and there is a faint smell of blood - a dark streak on her jeans. Maybe that was there before, though?

And, most recently, a wicker rubbish bin to corral the red bull cans.

Slipping through the door, and pushing it shut behind her. "Y'know, I know we ain't friends. I haven't 'specially gone out of my way to make any, right?"

"No, miss. I... would not wish to make you feel.. ah.. pressured? Obliged?"

She flicks a hand, snapping fingers and thumb together in a "zip it" motion. "Hold it, chatterbox. Lemme say my piece."

The bed, meanwhile, is covered with mid-packing mess - rope, pry bar, lockpicks, screwdrivers next to tea and parchment and tarot cards.

She slips over to run her eyes over the mess, examining, grading. Despite her insistence, she is quiet for a time. A couple things lifted up - one of the lockpicks held, twisted to feel the flex of the metal. The rope, given a small tug, and replaced back down. Then, turning back to Zara, as if she can feel the impatience burning into her back as she dawdles.

Zara watches back, silent and waiting. The rope is strong, the lockpicks finely honed - nocker work, all of it.

"I don't forget, though. No Algernon here. I remember your witchin' you put on me, when I went on the' last joyride. Maybe it helped, maybe it didn't. But you didn't have to give it."

A hand drifts to rub at the opposite arm, an unconscious gesture.

"And I know it wasn't for me."

"You went to help rescue him, yes? I wanted to help."

"But - miss? Pardon, I know we are not friends. But... " a frown and a little shrug. "I think we are no longer enemies. Hope."

A nod. "I had it all in hand. But there's that thing about gift horses. And I don't like to owe. So that's what this is about, eh? Payback. Feel lucky, most people don't much like to be on the receiving end." She tilts her head at Zara's question, and just shrugs a bit. A hand going into her backpack, and drawing forth - a jacket? This is tossed lightly towards the sluagh, a careless motion as if discarding a piece of laundry. "Here."

She flinches, but catches the jacket - she may be timid, but her reflexes are good.

It is a rough and unfinished thing - leather, supple and light, patched together in shadowy gray colors - seams rough around the edges perhaps, but the skill in making it still clear, although it seems as if it was never fully cleaned up. In her hands, she feels the glamour within of a treasure.

Her eyes narrow, a deep focus as she examines the glamour of the thing.

It was made to fit Pynki, but Zara is likely around her same build - taller, true, but perhaps also similarly slight in the shoulders, torso, and (ahem, lack of?) chest.

A fair assessment - Zara's 5'4, but painfully thin - little more than bone and sinew, more angle than curve.

It is a vague and nebulous thing. As she focuses on it, it feels as though her eyes want to slip away. What jacket? Nothing worth noticing...

"Put it on, noodle-brain. You get frostbite examining your gloves in the winter, too?"

"...ah"

Zara shrugs on the coat, cheeks flushing pink at the mild rebuke.

She slips around the sluagh, tugging a bit at the hem, and straightening the shoulders. A cough. "Good thing you're not chunky. Yeah, it'll do. This'll help you sneak by, a bit. Zip it up, and think about how goddamn boring you are. Get in touch with your inner wall-flower - see, I know you know that part. That's why it's on you, and not on the Spawn - he has no goddamn subtlety, that one."

"He's.. learning."

((To help wrap up so you can run to the other chat - it's a treasure, yep. Veiled Eyes, legerdemain 2.))

"I promise to return this safely. Toda, Miss Maus."

A shrug. "Bring it back. And try not to get any blood on it. Wouldn't want to give me any leftovers."

She shoves her hands in her pockets, her tail flicking as she moves for the door. "Later. Ain't gonna be waiting up, though."

"Aye. Goodbye, miss."

"See ya."

And, out.